


King's Justice

by PeterParkers7EvilExes (antimone_ii)



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Attempted Stabbing, Blood Drinking, Humiliation, M/M, Peter is 18 in this fictional work, Stripping, Vampire King Tony, virginal human Peter, which means in medieval times he's like 49 years old
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-02 22:09:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16795702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antimone_ii/pseuds/PeterParkers7EvilExes
Summary: Barely daring to breathe, Peter raises his head as the scepter pushes his chin up until he feels the sharp prick of it resting at the top of his throat.“You’re the one who released my dinner,” the King says, his voice low and almost bored.Peter feels tears welling in his eyes and he angrily blinks them away. “Yes, Your Grace.” The point of the scepter pushes against his throat and Peter inhales sharply as a trickle of blood rolls down the column of his throat, warm and sluggish.





	King's Justice

**Author's Note:**

> Written in two parts for Kinktober '18. Prompts: humiliation, stripping, biting

The guards come for him the dawn after the full moon. They only tell him that he’s being summoned to the kingscourt, and ignoring May’s screaming, they drag him up the hill to the black castle. Peter turns and tries to tell her it’ll be okay, but he can’t form words past the lump in his throat. He knows he’ll be dead within the hour. **  
**

They haul him up the black stone steps, and as they progress deeper into the castle’s yawning, bleak halls, Peter can feel the very air around him growing thinner and colder. When they come to a set of crimson double-doors with wrought iron bars, he’s shivering and gooseflesh prickles his skin.

The two guards creak the doors open and drag Peter inside the kingscourt, throwing him to the stone floor. Peter stumbles to his knees, trembling and blue-lipped, and he raises his head, eyes wide in terror.

Deathly silence falls over the great hall as everyone stares at him. Flanking the dais, the King’s Council gaze sternly at him. The walls are lined with servants, a mixture of pity and scorn on their wan faces, and the Kingsguard and the nobles who’ve come to petition Stark avoid his eyes entirely.

The King himself is seated at his black throne at the center of the dais, a blinding splash of color in the otherwise dreary hall. He’s draped in deep red cloaks and his hand is lazily wrapped around a polished gold scepter, the end of which has been filed to a fine, knife-like point. His skin is darker, more flushed than Peter’s heard him described, and his sharp trimmed black goatee accentuates his strong jaw and full lips. Tony Stark is _handsome_ , Peter thinks deliriously, and he realizes he’s been staring for far too long and quickly ducks his head, bowing deep from his position on the frozen stone floor.

“Bring him to me,” Tony drawls.

The two guards grab Peter under his arms and manhandle him to the front of the kingscourt, and a noblewoman who must have been mid-petition quickly gathers her skirts and makes way for them. They throw Peter down in front of the dais, and he quickly ducks his head.

He hears quiet footsteps, only audible for the stifling hush that’s fallen over the court as Tony stands and makes his way down the dais, stopping just in front of him. “You’re Peter Parker?” He asks, his low velvet voice suddenly much closer.

“Yes, Your Grace,” Peter says, blinking at his knees. He sees the point of the gold scepter enter his periphery, and the King raises it slowly, nudging the sharp edge at its end against the column of Peter’s throat. Barely daring to breathe, Peter raises his head as the scepter pushes his chin up until he feels the sharp prick of it resting at the top of his throat, and he’s staring into Tony’s coal black eyes.

“You’re the one who released my dinner,” he says, his voice low and almost bored.

Peter feels tears welling in his eyes and he angrily blinks them away. “Yes, Your Grace,” he says again. The point of the scepter pushes against his throat and Peter inhales sharply.

“Why?

“Your Grace, she wasn’t guilty of the crimes she’d been accused of,” Peter rasps. “It wouldn’t have been just to sentence her to die.”

“So _you_ decided to take justice into your own hands?” Tony asks, a dangerous edge to his words. “You think you can alter the sentences _I’ve_ passed down?”

“Your Grace, _please_ ,” Peter says, his voice breaking. He feels the point of the scepter break his skin and he sobs as a trickle of blood rolls down the column of his throat, warm and sluggish.

“We have a system of order in place for a reason, Peter Parker.” Tony pulls the scepter back and raises the end to his lips, licking Peter’s blood from it as his inky eyes flutter shut. “Virgin’s blood,” he notes with interest. He returns to his throne and lounges on it, crossing his legs like he’s at the theatre. “Strip him,” he orders the guards.

Peter yelps as an armored hand comes down on his shoulder and the guards yank at his shirt. When he protests and tries to push them off, he gets the flat of a sword sharp across his back and he cries out, falling silent as they tear his shirt to ribbons.

“And the trousers,” Tony says lazily.

“Please, Your Grace,” Peter tries again, sobbing as he gets the flat of a sword again to the backs of his thighs. When the guards are finished with him, he’s hunched in on himself, shaking and shivering as he tries to cover himself as best as possible, his clothes lying in tatters around him. He can hear the nobles and servants tittering among themselves, and despite how cold it is in the kingscourt, he feels like he’s boiling alive with the shame and humiliation.

“You’ll be happy to know,” Tony starts, “your _friend_ is long gone.” Peter looks up, but the King isn’t in his throne anymore. Black smoke swirls in a thick coil around him like the debris of a hurricane, and Tony’s voice comes again, disembodied and surrounding him all at once: “So whether she did commit the crime, fortunately for her we have no way of gathering further evidence to the contrary.”

He suddenly feels his presence directly behind him, Tony’s cloaked frame materializing to cast a menacing shadow over Peter. He bites back a whimper and ducks his head again.

“Now, unfortunately for _you_ , Peter Parker, I have no intention of wasting my men’s time hunting down a scrap of a meal. Which means the consequences fall to you.” Tony circles Peter’s hunched, naked body slowly, a predator surveying his next kill. “You understand, of course,” he says in a syrupy mocking tone. “What would the people think if I let a farm boy decide if my rulings were just or not?”

Cold fingers coil in his hair and Peter gasps in pain as he’s dragged to his feet, tears stinging his eyes. He’s excruciatingly aware of his nudity and he tries curling in on himself, but Tony yanks his hair hard until he’s whimpering and stretched on the tips of his toes, fully exposed for the entire kingscourt to laugh at.

But the King doesn’t seem to be laughing at him. The sclera of his eyes have turned black as his irises, drinking in the sight of him, and Peter shudders under his horrible gaze. “Divine,” Tony breathes. He tilts Peter’s head back, baring the long line of his throat and tracking the slow trickle of blood from where he’d pricked him with the scepter. He tugs Peter into his chest and as he lowers his mouth to his skin, Peter’s eyes roll back in his head and he clutches at Tony’s shoulders, overcome by a heady feeling like he’s drunk and half-euphoric all at once. The world shrinks down to the space between Tony’s arms wound tight around him, and all he can focus on is the cold, slick feeling of his tongue as it laps the drying blood from his skin in lazy swipes.

He forgets that he’s naked as his nameday in front of the entire court to see, can’t even register the soft moans that come unbidden from his mouth, can only think about how _desperately_ he wants Tony to bleed him dry and _use_ him–

“ _No_!” Peter hears himself screaming. He convulses suddenly, coming back to himself. Still half out of his mind, he shoves hard against Tony’s firm chest, throwing himself backwards to the floor. When he blinks and sees the King’s glittering black eyes trained on him, hungry and intent, he scrambles to his feet.

Two sets of armored hands seize him around the shoulders again and he screams, kicking and flailing against the guards. Around him, the court averts their eyes, many of them shuffling away at the prospect of a feeding about to go violently wrong. Peter can’t bring himself to care though, all he sees is Tony standing over him, his pointed teeth gleaming in the low lamplight.

“There’s no need for that,” Tony says patiently, licking blood from the corner of his lips. He takes Peter from the guards and grips him by the throat, and almost immediately that same heady calm falls over Peter again. He struggles feebly against his hold, but this time Tony’s ready. He forces Peter’s head back and sinks his fangs into the soft skin of his throat, and Peter moans weakly, going boneless in his arms. Peter breathes shallowly as cold lips latch around the puncture site and Tony drinks long and deep from his throat, and all he can do is twitch his fingers around the King’s forearms as a pleasant haziness swallows his mind.

He feels a warm fur cloak being wrapped around his shoulders and then, all too soon, Tony is pulling back and licking red lips in satisfaction. Peter whines at the loss of contact, and he clutches at the King’s shirtfront, dizzy and confused as to why he’d stopped.

Tony looks almost fondly down at Peter with his human-like eyes again. “Take him to my chambers. And Peter? Don’t stray,” he warns, his words honey-sweet and dangerous.

Peter nods dazedly, letting the guards march him out of the kingscourt. He can’t imagine why he’d ever want to leave Tony’s side again.

* * *

Tony adjourns the kingscourt early. He’s hungry from missing his meal and his mouth waters at the thought of sinking his teeth into virgins’ blood again. He dismisses the Kingsguard and shifts to his incorporeal form, winding down the castle’s stone archways and rematerializing, quiet as a shadow in the corners of his chambers. **  
**

The lure seems to have worn off of Peter rather quickly. The boy is lucid again and Tony watches with amusement as his prey hunches by the doorway, a makeshift stake in his shaking hand as he readies himself to ambush. He glances across the room and sees where the strip of wood has been torn from a rotting foot bench he’d inherited when he seized the castle.

“Stakes have to be made of white oak to work. Obviously, oak’s not allowed in the castle.”

The boy jumps about a foot in the air, spinning around to stare at Tony where he’s materialized. “Don’t,” he says, clutching at his weapon and aiming the point of it at him.

Tony ignores him and takes his crown off, setting it on the wardrobe. “Luckily for you, I hated that bench. I was looking for an excuse to get rid of it,” he says mildly, disrobing down to his silk undershirt and trousers. When he turns around, the boy is still standing by the door, naked and trembling. “Would you like to test your stake on me?” he asks drily, taking a step forward.

“Don’t–” Peter yelps, backing away from Tony, his back hitting the stone wall. “Don’t come any closer!”

With a sharp smile, Tony advances on him, letting his eyes shift black and licking his tongue over the points of his teeth. “Go on, Peter. See if your King lies to you.” He crowds Peter against the wall, hunger rising in the back of his mind as fear rolls off of the boy in waves. His hand snaps out and seizes Peter around the chin, and he yelps, driving his makeshift stake into Tony’s chest.

Mildly surprised by the boy’s initiative, Tony looks down at the rotted wood protruding from his chest. “See? This is old cedar at best,” he says, closing a hand over Peter’s. He can feel his prey shaking and he grips his hand tight, yanking the stake out with a horrible ripping noise. Peter’s eyes dart between his unblemished skin and his pitch black eyes, and the stake clatters uselessly to the floor.

Tony tilts his head back, admiring the faint flush to his skin and the soft fan of his long eyelashes over his cheeks. “Such a pretty thing,” he coos. “Did you know that virgin’s blood tastes differently? It’s sharper, sweeter. Less metallic on the tongue.” He leans in and presses his mouth over Peter’s, licking over his bottom lip. Peter shivers, his mouth clamped shut. Tony nips at him, his pointed teeth catching on the delicate skin and he grins as Peter whimpers in fear, the noise sparking arousal in his cock.

“Please, Your Grace, are you going to kill me?” Peter whispers when he pulls away, his brown eyes wide and vulnerable.

It makes Tony laugh and he curls a hand in Peter’s soft brown hair, gently stroking his fingers against his scalp. “Oh, sweet thing. No, not today. Think of this as servitude. In exchange for letting your little friend go, all you need to pay in return is your lifeblood.” He kisses up Peter’s jaw, groaning at the warmth of the boy’s skin beneath his lips. “Or– would you rather I passed her sentence onto you?”

“No, Your Grace,” Peter says quickly, gasping when Tony scrapes his teeth over the spot below his ear, licking in slow swipes over his skin.

“I’m a generous King, aren’t I?” Tony sighs, winding his fingers tighter into Peter’s hair. The boy makes a sweet noise of despair, but nods obediently. “Tilt your head back for me, Peter.”

Peter freezes in place, his eyes darting to meet Tony’s pitch gaze. He breathes quick and shallow, eyes darting around the chamber and where he’s trapped between the King’s arms and the wall behind him, and Tony can practically hear him trying to calculate if he can wrestle out of his grasp again.

Cutting that plan off at the bud, he yanks Peter’s hair back hard, exposing his throat forcefully. “Servitude or not, I am _still_ your King. And I expect you to obey me when I give you an order.” He shakes Peter by the hair roughly, dragging a pained cry from his lips. “Am I _understood_?” Peter nods jerkily, his brown eyes wide and watery. “Good. Now, tilt your head back for me.”

Peter blinks hazily up at him, tears spilling down his cheeks as he watches Tony’s bare his teeth. “Please, Your Grace,” he whispers, “ _please_.”

Tony growls, digging his fingers into his hair until Peter cries out, his back arching beautifully as he strains to lessen the pull. “I can either lure you again, or you can submit willingly. I’m giving you a _choice_ , Peter. Which is it?”

Peter’s eyes widen with fright as he recalls the terror of being so uncontrolled, so euphoric in the moment to feel his lifeblood drained. “I’ll submit, Your Grace,” he says miserably, and blinking away his tears, he curls his hands to his chest as if to guard his heart and just barely, he leans his head back, the long line of his throat a gorgeous, flushed gold.

“Good boy,” Tony rumbles, and he pushes Peter’s head back further and bites down over the rich, pulsing vein in the boy’s throat, piercing the skin in one smooth motion. Peter makes a pained noise and his fingers clamp down tight over Tony’s shoulders, whimpering softly as Tony sucks gently at his skin, urging blood to the surface in a steady flow. When Tony tastes blood filling his mouth, abundant and sweet, he makes a low noise of approval and seals his lips over the bite, drinking deep.

Peter’s breathing evens out slowly although Tony can still feel him trembling uncontrollably in his arms. He wraps an arm around Peter’s middle, supporting his weight as he drinks his fill. It’s been awhile since he’s indulged in blood this immaculate. Few virgins make their way through Tony’s justice system, and he relishes the sweet, clear sapidity of the boy’s lifestream, groaning when he feels small, slender fingers twitching at his shoulders.

Peter presses himself closer into Tony’s chest and his scared whimpers fade as he relaxes, realizing that Tony isn’t a crazed monster about to rip out his windpipe between his teeth. He rewards the boy with a gentle kiss over the bite before he resumes his feeding, and he wraps his arm snug around Peter, holding them tight together against the stone wall.

He discovers, to his delight, that Peter is hard against his leg. He’s making breathy exhales that catch in his throat, turning into barely audible moans, and Tony greedily lowers his hands to his ass, squeezing and pulling them tight together. “Y- Your Grace!” Peter gasps as his cock rubs against Tony’s thigh.

“It’s alright sweet, it’s normal to feel pleasure,” Tony murmurs against his throat. He pushes a knee between Peter’s naked legs and presses the boy into the wall, trapping him on his thigh. “Go on, it’s alright,” he coaxes, returning his lips to hungrily drink again.

When he doesn’t feel Peter moving, paralyzed with fear as he is, Tony gently nudges his thigh against his cock and grins to himself when Peter lets out a sharp moan, throwing his head back against the stone chamber wall. He quickly tucks one hand behind the crown of Peter’s skull to pillow him and rubs his thigh harder into the little cock between Peter’s legs, urging him on.

With a bit of encouragement, Peter begins to slowly roll his hips against Tony’s, panting and moaning sweetly as he thrusts his cock in awkward, jerky motions. It’s endearing how obvious his inexperience is, and it sets a hunger deep in Tony’s loins that he fully intends to sate later. Tony lets him ride his thigh, messy and desperate, and unable to resist he slips his free hand down between them to thumb over the wet tip of Peter’s cockhead.

Peter convulses beneath him, and Tony has to latch his teeth tighter in the boy’s throat to keep him still as he squeezes his little wet cock. He feels Peter’s fingers tightening almost painfully around his shoulders as he thrusts his hips in little stuttered motions against Tony’s thigh, and then he’s coming into Tony’s hand, his pink lips parted as he moans helplessly.

Tony can feel his own cock twitching with want, but he carefully continues to drink until the hunger ebbs from his mind, stroking his hands up and down Peter’s ribs as the boy comes down from his climax.

When Tony’s drank his fill, he reluctantly seals his lips over the bite and laps at the puncture marks with slow, gentle licks until the soft skin beneath his tongue heals over with his saliva.

He looks down Peter who’s sagged bonelessly in his arms and calmed down considerably. He’s still shuddering with aftershocks, but his dark eyes are hooded with drowsiness, and he no longer looks ready to bolt at a moment’s notice.

“There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Tony runs his hand gently through his soft brown hair, letting Peter fall into his chest with a tremulous sigh. He leans down to lift the boy under his knees and carries him to the bed.

Peter passes out almost immediately, and while he waits for him to wake up, Tony calls a handmaid to bring something from the kitchens and a set of clothes.

He sits beside Peter in the bed and takes the moment to admire the gentle rise and fall of his ribcage, the vulnerable curl of his fingers into his palms as he sleeps. The boy’s resistance concerns Tony to a degree, but the temptation of keeping a steady supply of blood at his beck and call - blood this pure, no less - is too great for him to resist.

And Tony’s never been good with resisting temptations.

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me on [tumblr](https://peterparkers7evilexes.tumblr.com/).


End file.
